


Close Shave

by indigo_bloodrayne



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Boundaries, Drama, F/M, Ficlet, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, POV Negan (Walking Dead), Prisoner Negan, Season/Series 09, Sexual Tension, Swearing, Trust Issues, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25242109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_bloodrayne/pseuds/indigo_bloodrayne
Summary: Negan needed a damn shave, but received someone unexpected to carry out the deed.Takes place some time after the { Season 9 } finale during the time-skip.
Relationships: Michonne & Negan (Walking Dead), Michonne/Negan (Walking Dead)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Close Shave

**Author's Note:**

> A simple idea and a bit of fun inspired by the scene where Michonne thanks Negan, and how they may have acted towards each other way after that. If something had happened, I always see Negan feeling something for her first. I LOVE this pairing and wish it got more spotlight.

“Well. Look who it is.” 

Thunder rumbled in the distance as humidity leaked into the hollow space of the cell where Negan was caught on the hop from the two stagnant figures shielded from the light. Their gazes skewering him like a bayonet, it’d become apparent the security head only braved down here when he was deemed a recent bother, or he’d done something concerning. In short, a lot of the damn time nothing positive stemmed from their leader entering his prison. Though, she had a particular way of surprising him. _Well. Least you can do is make a little fun before the inevitable ball-breaking and tongue lashings._

The woman carrying the entire community on her shoulders and with the attitude to back it up, bristled as a brief exchange between the Alexandrians resulted in scrutinising eyes darting his way. Negan’s brow drew together curiously as the guard, showing obvious reluctance and restraint from the deluge of protests, left the two of them alone.

Silence fell and the air suddenly grew thicker... until Michonne finally steered towards him. 

Regarding her closely in his periphery, she appeared to be teetering on the edge of backing out of whatever she had prepared. But he lingered on the softer expression she wore that reminded him of that day he busted his leg and froze his balls off in the raging blizzard. It was like instinct had kicked into gear and his body moved automatically in that moment as he found himself charging outside into winter's bite. Later in recovery, the inflamed woman had dropped her pride and deepest animosity to express gratitude for what he’d done. 

“You know... I’m bettin’ you’re mad about something.” 

“Hm.” Michonne huffed sharply at his teasing remark and cocked a hip. “Not yet.”

Having stifled the persistent smile that already began crawling across his face, an obscure sound rolled in his throat. He suddenly wondered. “How’s the kid?”

Michonne sighed. For a moment there was intent to ignore his question as tautness returned to her frame. 

“Fine.” She replied bluntly, but he waited patiently. He often never had to do much coaxing. “I think you know there isn’t a day she doesn’t involve herself around the place.”

Negan dipped his head in the shadows as he surrendered the smile, silently in agreement. ‘Course he didn’t need to peek to know her penetrating umbers were still locked onto him, brows furrowed in contemplation. Maybe it showed distaste of how fondly the man viewed the young Grimes, most likely still coming to terms with that. Still, he figured a part of her already comprehended. Observing the scene, Negan’s hooded eyes were back on stalks the moment they caught the presage flash of a narrow blade… joined with a small rustic tub of water, a half empty bottle of some sort of care product and a washcloth.

Any apprehensiveness had ebbed away as she bolstered her resolve and approached the bars, like confronting a caged animal. “I needed everyone out there. Easier to talk this way. Privately.”

The cogs turned in his head as he understood.

“...I’ll be damned. Ain’t there a first for everything.” Negan grinned. “Or hell I’m reading this all wrong and you’re here to carve out what’s left of my jugular. I'm guessin’ you know how to handle that.” He gestured to the razor blade clasped in her fingertips and chuckled. “I gotta say, sure hope I bleed like a mother for ya.”

Negan mused that he was probably planting ideas that she humoured in her head. _The words danced on the tip of her tongue, so why not say it for her?_

“Naww. I s’pose if you wanted to do that, I’d be dead already. That right?” He added with a moisten of his lips, doubting he would ever stop flirting with death. Or perhaps it was her.

Answered with an agitated roll of the eyes, something he was well accustomed to, the samurai stepped closer. With a distinct, metallic rattle and drag of the barred door, the barrier between him and the open world wailed open once again.

Reasonably wary despite playing it off, Negan tried to determine if she was serious for a moment as the steely, darkened pool of his pupils pinned her in place. Thoughts conjugated of how given this opportunity before, she undoubtedly _would’ve_ wasted him right here before he breathed a word. No matter the issue or conflict, he learned Michonne was ready and willing to undertake whatever hardships she needed to ensure Alexandria was safe and secure. Or perhaps she simply thought of this as a job. Negan wouldn’t know until that moment seized him by the throat and crushed. When he would feel the lukewarm blood stream over his skin and seep into his donned prison attire. Stark in the daylight and laid to rest in a pool of cerise substance. Shit, he knew a good number would have traded places to enact their desire to see him six feet under or fed to the freaks. Last person who’d gotten close was the widow.. Maggie. 

To his displeasure, his face scrunched at the ugly memory of having quivered and pleaded at her feet for death. _That was not him._ That wasn’t who he fucking was and who he’d become after everything he’d survived. Like hell. That was not what this shitty world would make him to be. Weak and fragile. A man who had given up.

Ripping him back to the present was the squealing, wooden chair in Michonne’s hand formerly tucked away in the corner, as she positioned it closely opposite him. Meanwhile his calloused hands remained in his lap as she placed the tub at her feet, eyeing the sloshing water.

“You do a lot of this? Guess a busy gal like yourself needs a sticking hobby.” Negan almost whispered, light and breathless. 

“This would go smoother if you didn’t talk.” Michonne pulled back and tipped the bottle to deposit a mound of white substance onto the cloth. “Can you manage that?”

He smirked mischievously, but otherwise complied. He expected demands to be spat in his face but they never came. Though what _really_ intrigued him right here was how Michonne was never this close. She always maintained an overt cautious distance from him even behind bars, as though his actions, words and very presence were infectious. Revolving like a poisonous planet caught in his pull. Negan couldn’t glean much from her expression right now, but it didn’t seem to bother her.

“I’ll talk. And you’ll listen.” She began, but he noticed the lack of spike to her low voice. 

As the product was applied to his cheeks, he felt lulled and compelled to release the tension in his muscles and unclench his jaw. Negan listened intently as the first sweep of the razor over the unkempt grey hairs and stubble felt cool to the touch.

“I won’t forget what you did for my daughter. It doesn’t change much of anything. And you know that. Doesn’t mean it changes _nothing_.” Her demeanour shifted again, as though she suddenly recalled who she _was_ talking to. He could practically hear her shuffle through words. “You want some sort of trust? Acceptance?... Forgiveness? You won’t find it. Maybe never will.” 

_Pretty callous, sweetheart... But I ain’t arguing that._

“But… There's a start here. You said you wanted to help. Can’t say it’ll be a straight-shot though.” Michonne added soberly.

_Well, goddamn._

A noise vibrated deep in Negan’s throat. He couldn’t picture her contemporaries agreeing. They would surely balk at the idea, given he had a lack of advocates. Even his former lieutenant placed on the council would be unwilling. He was on the fence about Gabe, despite their heart-to-hearts. Or what he thought. But her.. she’d decided to put the first foot forward. _Why, he was feeling damn peachy all of a sudden._ Meanwhile through his self-absorption, Michonne worked with calm precision. Her hands were unexpectedly gentle and unlike the beginning of these strange fucking circumstances, she was much closer now, unflinching at their proximity as she focused on her task. 

A faint scent reached his nostrils and encompassed him then. A mingled fragrance of sweet honey and pine. Like she had spent her days scouting every inch of the woods. He supposed she probably had, with all the rising tension of this new enemy roaming through territories. The former saviour gulped it down greedily, finding it oddly soothing.

Creeping lower to work below his jawline next, Negan hesitated to tilt back with the glint of metal so sharp in his vision. His pulse thrummed, felt the blood travel to his limbs. Nevertheless... Negan inhaled deeply as he exposed his throat and exposed the scar, the raised pale line that marked his near demise. Evidence of that guy before. The one he chose to leave behind to decay along with the Sanctuary. 

His breath halted and all senses were heightened as the razor-tipped blade dragged carefully over the sensitive lump of his adam’s apple. Negan eyes travelled over her form and across her face languidly as the sharp edge glided across thick stubble, her long lashes almost locked together in concentration. Michonne's spilled hums of attentiveness pitched down lower into something gravelly and flipped a subconscious switch inside him. Submerging the cloth and ringing it out, the sound of pellucid water trickled into the tub before she dragged the damp material over his throat, wiping away the excess. Tiny droplets escaped and sluiced down his olive toned skin to disappear under his shirt. 

A catch in the misty light drew his attention to the precious accessory that dangled from her slender neck. Rick’s woman. Negan saw from the start that she was a looker. But never had the moment to really... _look_ at her. 

The smooth shape of her shoulder blades connected to the nape. Feminine, willowy curves of her figure, the slim but defined arms demonstrating strength and power to wield the sword positioned on her back in subtle warning. Alluring ebony complexion. Raven coloured locks. Rosy lips that pressed into a thin line. Negan noticed every dimple, every crease. With nothing but time, he continued to survey as something flickered to life in the pit of his stomach and for the slimmest second Michonne met his gaze with growing serration, his blood swarmed with heat. Similar to the prickling sensation he sometimes experienced when her intensive anger unleashed his way, but only more _fucking intense._ Like molten, something primal and primitive burned inside his core and rushed to the column of his neck faster than a bullet could hit. _Fuck._

“There.”

That authoritative tone contaminated his ears as she rose suddenly and gathered her kit. Only when the samurai’s radiating warmth dispersed as she stepped away, did he feel the full force of the quickened, rib shattering thumps of his chest. _And what do you know? He was still in one piece too._

_Well, luck be a lady tonight._

“So…” Negan broke into a ludic smile and leered at her slyly. “No use expecting this to be a regular thing?”

Michonne retorted with a scoff, the kind that he guessed was an attempt to cover amusement that went unwanted. “Not even.” But a grimace marred her attractive features when she turned her head to cast a glance over her shoulder at him. “Don’t waste this.”

As she departed in haste to lend a mending hand elsewhere, the cell immediately seemed much colder, especially against his clean-shaven skin. The words still hung in the air but Negan focused on the empty spot she occupied only moments before, prodding the inner flesh of his cheek with his tongue. He instinctively locked the image of Michonne and their encounter into the attic of his mind. Whatever _that_ was, it filled a small crevice and sparked a dangerous impulse that had almost burst from his skin. However, like an incoming onslaught of rain to burning embers, the indulgent desire to see her again threatened to extinguish when something snagged his attention. His aged features twisted.

 _Rick’s_ woman.


End file.
